At exactly 3:00 p.m., the atmosphere in the indoor pool house was electric, thick with humidity and the scent of expensive chlorine. The room was a monument to Michael's success—soaring glass ceilings, Roman pillars, and a pool so vast it felt like a private lake.

​The crew moved with silent, practiced efficiency. Sasha sat behind the main monitor, her headset on, looking every bit the commander of the set. She adjusted the mic on her loudspeaker, her eyes sharp and focused.

​I stepped onto the heated marble, stripped down to nothing but a pair of tight black boxers. The air was warm, but the look Sasha gave me was ice-cold professional.

​"Good to go, babe?" she asked over the speaker, her voice echoing slightly against the glass walls.

​I gave a slow nod, my eyes fixed on the shimmering turquoise water. "I'm always ready."

​Then, Lana made her entrance. She didn't just walk; she commanded the space. She had shed the robe, standing there in that transparent V-string and the lacy bra that looked ready to snap. She moved toward me, the clicking of her heels the only sound in the room until she reached the edge of the water.

​She stopped inches from me, the scent of her perfume—heavy, floral, and provocative—clouding my senses. "Try not to drown, Druski," she purred, her eyes tracing the lines of my chest.

​I leaned in, my voice a ghost of a whisper meant for her ears only. "You taught me how to swim, Lana. I think I can handle the deep end."

​A flicker of a challenge sparked in her eyes. Her fingers lingered on my sternum, a slow trail of heat, before she finally pulled away and stepped toward the center of the frame.

​"Okay, people," Lana announced, her voice regaining its producer's edge. "Let's make history."

​Sasha's voice cut through the air, steady and dominant. "Camera crews, stay on the gimbal for the tracking shot. Druski, clear the frame—give her the stage."

​I stepped back into the shadows of the pillars, leaving Lana alone in the glow of the high-output LEDs.

​"And... action."

------

The camera glided forward on the track, capturing the shimmering reflections of the water dancing across Lana's skin. She stood at the very edge of the Roman steps, her back to the lens, silhouetted against the turquoise glow of the pool.

​Slowly, she reached behind her. With a practiced flick, the clasp of her bra gave way.

​As she peeled the lace back and dropped it to the marble, her massive, surgically perfected breasts swung free with a heavy, rhythmic bounce. They were a marvel of modern engineering—firm, high-set, and defying gravity. Her nipples, dark and prominent, hardened instantly in the humid air. As she turned slightly, the sheer weight of them shifted, creating a deep, enticing cleavage that seemed to swallow the light.

​She didn't stop there.

​Her hands slid down to the thin, transparent straps of the V-string resting high on her hips. With a sultry, feline arch of her back, she pushed the fabric down. The movement emphasized the deep dimples at the base of her spine and the expansive, muscular curve of her glutes. Her ass was a masterpiece—tight, rounded, and bronzed to perfection.

​As the thong pooled at her ankles, she stepped out of it, revealing her legs—long, toned, and glistening with a fine mist of moisture. She turned fully toward the camera, exposing her flawlessly shaved pussy. It was neat and smooth, the skin soft and glowing under the high-intensity LEDs.

​She stood there, a totally exposed goddess in her own temple, her heavy breasts swaying slightly as she took a deep, theatrical breath. She looked into the lens, not as a performer, but as a woman who knew she owned every man watching.

Lana descended the submerged marble steps with a slow, rhythmic grace. From behind, the camera caught the hypnotic sway of her hips and the deep, muscular cleft of her back as she eased into the heated water. She glided, her body cutting through the turquoise surface like a predator in her natural habitat. She moved to the center of the pool, the water lapping at her waist, before disappearing beneath the surface in a fluid arc.

​"Your turn, Druski. Focus on the transition," Sasha's voice crackled through the speakers, sharp and commanding.

​I stepped into the light, the lenses pivoting to track my movement. I dialed into the character—the "innocent" stepson stumbling upon something he wasn't meant to see. My expression was a calculated mix of wide-eyed shock and a dark, bubbling curiosity. I moved to the edge of the pool, my gaze fixed on the spot where she had vanished.

​Then, she surfaced.

​Lana rose slowly from the water like a pagan goddess. The liquid cascaded off her in shimmering sheets, highlighting the sheer scale of her chest. Her breasts were magnificent—so massive they seemed to have their own gravity, the water tension holding them up as they bobbed and swayed with every ripple. Her dark, prominent nipples were puckered hard from the slight temperature shift, standing out against the pale, wet glow of her skin.

​As she turned toward me, the movement caused her breasts to heave and shimmer, looking impossibly soft yet firm under the high-gloss studio lights. The sight was a sensory overload; even with the cameras rolling, the raw, physical reality of her pushed my heart into my throat and made my cock go rock-hard against the fabric of my boxers.

​Lana played the part of the startled matron to perfection. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, her hands flying up to cover her chest—though her fingers could barely span a fraction of that enormous, heaving cleavage.

​"Druski!" she cried out, her voice a delicious mix of mock-outrage and invitation. "You naughty boy! How long have you been standing there watching me?"

​"Long enough," I rasped, my voice sounding more authentic than I intended.

"You're a bad kid, Druski," she breathed, her voice echoing off the marble pillars. She stayed in the center of the pool, her hands still pressed against her massive, wet breasts, but her eyes were devouring me. "If your father knew you were lurking around his private pool while I was... like this? He'd have you out on the street before dinner."

​I took a slow, tentative step into the shallow end, the warm water swirling around my ankles. I kept my face fixed in that perfect "Step-Son" mask—guilt warring with pure, unadulterated lust.

​"I'm sorry, Lana," I muttered, my voice thick. "I didn't mean to peek. I just... I heard the water. I didn't think anyone was in here."

​She didn't move to cover herself further. Instead, she let her hands slide slowly down the sides of her heavy curves, her palms grazing her ribs before she began to glide toward me. She moved through the water like a shark, her massive breasts creating a bow wave that broke against her collarbones.

​She stopped just inches from me. The heat from her body was radiating through the water. She reached up, her wet fingers tracing the line of my jaw, leaving a trail of fire.

​"Well," she whispered, a predatory smirk playing on her lips. "I suppose we could work something out. A little secret between us? Something your father never needs to hear about."

​She leaned in, her damp hair brushing against my shoulder, and looked down at the unmistakable, rock-hard tent in my boxers. Her eyes flared with a mix of mischief and pure hunger.

​"But we can't have you standing there in those wet clothes, can we?" she teased, her voice dropping to a low, sultry command. "Take them off. Join me for a swim, Druski. Let's see just how 'bad' you really are."

​From the shadows, Sasha's voice came through the comms, barely a whisper but sharp as a blade. "Zoom in on the boxers. Druski, strip. Slow. I want to see her reaction when you're free."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.